


Shadow of the Dragon

by shippingandrecieving



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanzo refused and daddy Shimada did it himself, Hanzo takes him to Nepal and its Zenyatta who heals Genji, THEY LOVE EACHOTHER LET THEM BE HAPPY DAMMIT, adult Hanzo McCree and old Overwatch, baby half omnic Genji, in this fic Hanzo didnt kill Genji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7706758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippingandrecieving/pseuds/shippingandrecieving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(WIP) Yakuza!Hanzo Detective!overwatch AU tumblr collaboration - look its got a real title now and everything</p><p>A 1950's Postmodern style detective/mafia AU featuring Hanzo Shimada and Jesse McCree. Reinhardt and Genji will be included in later chapters.</p><p>Detective work's tough when the Mafia are breathing down your neck, and a suspicious pretty man keeps swooping in to cause mayhem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Interrogation.

**Author's Note:**

> This is still a WIP so more will be on its way!  
> A collaboration with kingsdarga on tumblr for an exceptional fanart of theirs that I just had to expand on.

Hanzo Shimada had the look of a man who had more than an Ace hidden up his sleeve. His expression a sly mixture of seduction, revelry, and a practiced look of low-key disinterest; the expression of a man who had rehearsed and employed this dance a hundred times and delighted in every step. McCree groaned inwardly and huffed on his cigarette, this would be a long evening.

Hanzo blinked his delicately tipped eyes slowly. His gaze slid from the heavy cuffs binding his wrists up to McCree, then all over the man with one shapely eyebrow raised in appraisal.

McCree exhaled a plume of smoke heavily and studied Hanzo's face. There was a thin cut following the defined shelf of a cheekbone; fresh and unclean from Reinhardts first bout of 'gentle persuasion'. Accompanying this was an equally messy split lip and a purpling smear of a bruise marring the bridge of his nose. Despite this, the Mafia lord still managed to look effortlessly handsome- even more so roughed up a little. Perhaps it was just his face that suited being used as a blackboard eraser, or McCree had a deviation he was reluctant to admit to.

What he hoped remained a passively disinterested stare, Jesse eyed the rest of him suspiciously, nothing about this man spoke of anything but the natural assurance of being born rich, self entitled and sitting on an almost laughable amount illicitly gained money.

The Yakuza king's clothes were as equally battered as his face, his expensively kept inky black hair was loose about his shoulders, slightly mussed from the rough treatment, his expensive tie was slung low- the knot pulled loose when his expensive silk shirt had been torn open, a few buttons were missing and the rumpled collar shadowed thick long bruises from when Reinhardts meaty fingers had been clamped 'encouragingly' around his throat.

He leaned forward, chair creaking with the minute movement, and sneered up at Jesse devilishly, an unlit cigarette held within sharp, white teeth.

"Have a match?"

Jesse's scowl deepened, and he leaned heavily on the small metal table Hanzo was cuffed at. He fixed the other man with the most intimidating look he could muster. It had been a long day accompanied by too much whiskey and not enough coffee, and Jesse had felt himself begin to fray around the edges; he only hoped he looked as intimidating as he felt, and not as bone tired and underpaid.

McCree dwarfed Hanzo's lithe frame, his broad shoulders eclipsed the harsh light in the room, shrouding the crime lord in his shadow. Jesse could have sworn that a sudden and almost instantly quelled look of respect shifted Hanzo's expression from indifference and back again.

Jesse produced a small packet of matches from a pocket of his waistcoat and ignited one with a sharp jerk of his thumbnail. He held the match still, the flame tipped back. Let the mob boss do his own proverbial legwork for a light.

The Yakuza Oyabun seemed unfazed by this new obstacle and leaned forward until his face was inches away from McCree's and inhaled deeply, until the end of his cigarette smouldered. He then pulled back and sat down slowly, eyes half lidded as he peered up at Jesse through a thick fan of dark eyelashes. Hanzo reclined languidly back in the metal chair he had been unceremoniously thrown into in the cramped, dank interrogation room and exhaled twin plumes of smoke from his nostrils; an obscene parody of the dragons he had emblazoned on his bared forearm.

"As you no doubt already know, McCree-san, there is no evidence pinning me to these...misdeeds you have uncovered."

"These misdeeds of yours have been uncovered in several of your warehouses."

"My warehouses they might be, but my misdeeds they are not." Hanzo's suave smile did not reach his eyes, they glittered with a malicious triumph, and he spread his hands in a placative manner. It only served to make Jesse more angry. Hanzo was enjoying this.

"If you're insisting that your business practices are all legal, then you will have no problem in telling me what those practices are."

Hanzo stared levelly at him, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a slight smile.  
"That is none of your concern, McCree-san."

"I would very much like to make it my concern." McCree growled, smoke escaping from between his teeth clamped around his own cigarette. All this talking in circles was giving Jesse a headache.

"Do you truly want the entirety of my company bearing down on your little overwatch," Hanzo leaned forward slightly, his silken hair spilling over his shoulders and lips twisted in a cold, humourless smirk. "You would be sunk like a paper ship, under our influence. This is not your place, you have no standing here." Hanzo's smirk turned into a vicious snarl. All semblance of mirth and sarcasm had been snuffed out by some unseen force as swiftly as it had been ignited.  
"You cannot hold me further without evidence. Now release me."

Jesse's jaw twitched minutely and he smiled, all teeth and no humour. Cruelty can be a two player game. He waved his prosthetic hand dismissively. "As you wish..."

Jesse took a fold-up chair from against the wall and shook it open, its rickety legs clanked obscenely loud against the floor. He then sat down heavily, and kicked his feet up onto the table in front of Hanzo, still smiling this time triumphantly. The expression of the man sat opposite him had changed from fury, to disquiet, to barely masked horror as Reinhardt lumbered in, flexing his hands.

Hanzo spat a feline-esque hiss as Reinhardt yanked him up by the cuffs and half carried-half dragged him from the room.

Jesse chuckled and tipped his head back as he listened to the almost animalistic noises Hanzo made in his fury as he was manhandled out of the cuffs and out of the door. He sighed and rolled his shoulders as he stood- he could do with another drink and a good manhandling himself after all that.

McCree's grin widened as he heard Reinhardt's bellowing jovial laughter grow even louder as his partner leaned inside the interrogation room door.

"Such _pleasant_ manners our guests have, do they not?" he laughed again, "Drink?"


	2. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is ready and chapter 3 is on its way, thankyou to everyone who has read this so far and I hope it is enjoyable.

McCree sighed and pressed the cold glass of tequila he was nursing against forehead, the wet condensation mixing with the fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

Six days had passed since Jesse had to endure a verbal square dance with Hanzo and since then the offending party had gone to ground. During a bust on one of the suspect Shimada owned warehouses, Reinhardt had seized some questionable shipping manifests and a few 'night workers'. Overwatch had been making progress, though to McCree it didn't seem much like it.

They always seemed to be a step behind the increasingly bold Yakuza agents and with the constantly patchy and contradictory reports on Oyabun Hanzo Shimada's whereabouts, it felt like himself and Reinhardt were chasing their tails rather than attempting to clean up the under city. Something big was roiling in the shadowy places of Hanamura and Jesse didn't want to find himself caught in the crossfire.

Jesse leaned back and sighed again, pushing his back into the supple leather back of the chair in the private booth he inhabited at the bar. He had scoped out the establishment with Reinhardt when they had first arrived; the only one he could find that served tequila and he needed a taste of home, and this line of work gave a man a near unquenchable thirst.

McCree was jolted out of his reflection by a shadow that fell across his elbow and a voice that made his drink turn sour in his mouth.

"Have a match?" they said tightly in precise, clipped English.

He could almost taste the forced sarcasm that laced his increasingly unwelcome companions smooth voice like poison. McCree growled and drained his glass, hoping the burn would sear him clean like holy fire. He wouldn't be pulled into to Hanzo's mind games.

Jesse huffed and turned in his seat. He had always believed himself a man of taking pleasure from the little things; a good bottle of whiskey, a hot meal, a box of his favoured cigarillos, and an evening of pleasurable company in not necessarily that order and Jesse considered himself a happy man. Waltzing about his vocabulary with an arguably wanted criminal was nowhere on that itinerary.

"The hell d'yer want?" Jesse glared up at Hanzo, he didn't even bother to attempt at lucidity. Hanzo slid stiffly into the seat next to him. He was wearing the same clothes as the day he had been brought into the Overwatch detectives office, and looked nearly as beaten up as his attire; new scrapes and bruises mottling his skin among the old.

"I was hoping to inquire about your assistance in a...personal matter."

"Huh. Straight ta the point today." Jesse refilled his glass nonchalantly. "You sure are flirty when'yer want somethin'." Inebriation and petty sarcasm released the restraints on his thick accent.

"You wish to know what i want?" Hanzo stared intently at him, brows furrowed softly.

"Someone t'light your damn cigarettes for you." McCree rested his right ankle on his left knee and turned his head away to stare out the tinted glass of the small window. Hanzo leaned forward and grasped Jesse's thigh and squeezed, hoping the contact would divert McCree's attention back to him. Their little game back at the station's interrogation room- rather his source of entertainment during any interrogation that had _him_ cuffed to a chair- was fun when he had a few cards and a knife up his sleeve, but such as the situation was now trick shots and deception are hard to pull off under a spotlight that is not your own.

"I am in trouble, and it is in your best interests to help me."

Jesse made a small disinterested hum in the back of his throat, brows arched slightly. "S'that right..." The corner of Jesse's mouth twitched up in a small victorious smirk when the slighter man beside him made a strangled noise of frustration.

"So you flirt in circles 'til you get bored then bite someone's hand off, s'that how you work?" Jesse drawled, turning back to Hanzo. Oh how the tables had turned. Jesse hadn't felt this good all week.

"My father has swept my own organisation out from underneath me, my most trusted bodyguards have been bought and now seek the bounty placed upon my head. There is only one place left i can hope to call safe, and that is unacceptable." Hanzo breathed heavily through his nose, as though the confession physically pained him.

McCree snorted and fumbled to light a cigarette. He held it snug in the junction of his index and middle fingers expertly with the same hand that held his glass of tequila, and idly ran the tips of his fingers against the slightly chipped rim. "No honour among thieves, huh." He muttered, still very aware of Hanzo's hand clamped on his thigh.

"I never willingly dealt in blood," Hanzo shook his head, the long scarf that kept his hair tethered in place swept across his back, the contrasting material of his blazer scraped softly against the yellow silk, like reeds in a gentle breeze. "I never sought it out. Only in response to rivalries were such actions employed by my own hands."

"Oh, so now you're admitting to all those illicit activities we had no evidence linking to you, how cooperative. Sorry I have no cuffs on me right now-"

"Think, American," Hanzo spat, his short nails dug into McCree's leg like claws. "Do you think that I would employ men whose actions became so sloppy so easily?" Hanzo bared his teeth, "You have festered from a nuisance to a problem and the Yakuza will not delay in your removal. Those men wanted your people to catch them, and now they are locked up in your insignificant little station, waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Jesse murmured, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Hanzo released McCree's leg and stood to leave, he swept his piercing gaze over the scattering of patrons while straightening his frayed blazer jacket. "Do you truly desire to find out, because if so, you will want to do so quickly if you intend to keep your head above the waves."

Jesse's eyes were as malicious and cold as the barrel of the revolver he kept tucked lovingly under his arm. "If this is some goddamn sick, twisted double play a'yours to fuck me over, Shimada-"

Hanzo bared his sharp teeth like a cornered stray and a flash of blue fogged his tipped brown eyes. "It is not. I assure you." Hanzo snarled, and promptly turned on the heel of his once meticulously shined shoes and stalked out of the bar and into the night.

Jesse stared at Hanzo's back through the window as he retreated down the darkened side streets, body twisted gingerly as he unsteadily favoured his right side. McCree's shallow breaths misted on the glass. Hanzo soon disappeared like a ghost in the fog.

McCree blinked and hurriedly drained his glass, his breath caught in his throat as he stared down at his usually steady hands that now had begun to tremble. Jesse swiftly decided that he needed air and hauled himself out of his seat and strode out the bar, ignoring the dead stares of the subdued patrons who had been disturbed from their drinks by the commotion. He leaned back against the heavy door after it closed behind him and drew a shaky breath. The detective passed a calloused hand over his face and flicked the burned-out stub of his neglected cigarette into the gutter before he set off down the street; the sooner he was back at base the better.

Working cases back home, all Jesse needed to worry about when he was in the thick of it was who had mixed his drink and whose gun barrel could be pressed to his ribs at any moment. Here, at this edge of the world, he had shadows, pretty murderous men, and magic to contend with.

The night air was warm where it tugged its insistent fingers through his hair as he walked, but Jesse shivered none the less. Nothing ever rattled Jesse McCree, but no amount of strong drink would ever smother the memory of the smokey blue light that had emanated from Hanzo's very eyes.

Jesse strode down the street in the direction of the station. His hands still felt sweaty and they shook when he clenched them at his sides, but his legs had steadied, he had always found walking was purposeful and the simple monotonous action had soothed his nerves. However, Hanzo's ominous words echoed in his mind. He had to get back to Reinhardt, this was much bigger than either of them had expected, and if Hanzo was correct, then the Yakuza was already bearing down on them. He shook his head with a sigh, if Hanzo Shimada, whatever he was, planned to use Overwatch - specifically Jesse- as a proverbial meat shield then things were definitely going to get messy.

A distant gout of flame spilled high into the air, accompanied by the shriek of exploding glass. Jesse recoiled from the sudden light and gaped, staring up at the blaze of orange that lapped at the heavy nights sky. His heart pounded frantically in his chest.

_You have festered from a nuisance to a problem and the Yakuza will not delay in your removal._

Realisation hit Jesse like a freight train. "Oh, Jesus..." He breathed, and stumbled forward into a run. He gulped great lungful's of smog, exhaust fumes, and stale cigarette smoke; the stifling concoction caught in his throat and he spluttered as he bolted down alleyway after alleyway towards the Overwatch detective office.


	3. The Bad to Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 3! I finally steamrolled through my writers block to get this done, chapter 4 should hopefully be up soon. Thankyou for all the kudos and I hope the last few chapters will be to your liking too.

"Reinhardt!" Jesse screamed up at the wrecked building, one side fully engulfed by the flames, his chest heaved from the exertion and his dark eyes were wide and wild as he took in the sight of the Overwatch station ablaze. His titanic companion leaned out their detectives office window; his white hair and beard singed dark here and there. The former soldier had unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirtsleeves and pulled them up to his elbows to avoid the fire, the stiff cuffs stuck out like elbow guards on plate armour. Reinhardt called down to McCree desperately, his voice rough from the smoke.

" _Scheisse_! Jesse, help me with this!"

McCree grit his teeth and shouldered his way through the charred door, he gagged and spluttered as he was met with a heavy cloud of thick, black smoke. The detective blinked his stinging eyes and hauled himself up the stairs, he kept one hand on the wall to guide himself through the smoke towards their shared office.

McCree gulped greedy lungful's of cleaner air and he slammed the door behind him, in attempt to cut off the sluggishly moving smoke a little while longer.

"What the hell happened?" Jesse rasped after an unsuccessful attempt to clear the acrid smoke from his throat. He joined his partner in hurriedly sifting through messy stacks of case files and evidence notes and cramming anything he could find on the Yakuza into a slightly burned box and promptly threw it from the window. Hopefully away from the blaze that crackled ominously as it spread closer from the holding cells further down the stairs.

"Those _hunde_ set the fire, the men we caught from the Shimada warehouse. I don't know how, I just heard them screaming and the smell of burning flesh and hair." Reinhardt's massive shoulders hunched as he visibly shuddered.

Jesse's reply was cut off by the shrill shatter of glass as several Japanese men in fine suits and body armour powered through the windows of the office. McCree cursed and rolled over a table which he pulled down with him to use as a makeshift cover. He landed heavily, but securely out of the Yakuza line of fire for the moment. Pushing up against the table, he unholstered his dear Peacekeeper.

"Rein', get'cha old arse behind something!" The older man huffed but complied, and he shielded his body behind one of the pillars that acted as a partition between their booths. Jesse stifled a laugh when he looked over at Reinhardt as he kicked one of the attacking Yakuza back out through the window he had just vaulted through, with the most unimpressed look he had ever seen on his partner's face.

Crouching, Jesse peeked out of cover and counted off his shots. One, two- one in the neck and one in the stomach, one man down. Three, four, five- shoulder, throat and chest, a second man down. Six- Jesse grinned cruelly, headshot.

He shook out the spent casings and began to reload when one of the attacking mercenaries barrelled into him, the agent was almost as tall and broad as McCree himself and brought his elbow down in the crook of Jesse's shoulder then shoved. McCree cried out sharply as his back hit a desk and it collapsed beneath their combined weight.

The heavyset mercenary who had him pinned pulled back for an instant to withdraw a wickedly serrated knife and bore down again. Jesse clasped his attackers wrists and struggled against him in attempt to turn the knife away from his face or disarm him, his heels scraped against the floor as he struggled for any kind of purchase to flip them. His breath came in shallow gasps and he writhed as he found none and panic began to smother his ability to think rationally. His attacker's sharp features twisted in a cruel smile.

Their smirk turned into an almost comical gawp as the knife slipped free of his grasp and dropped to the floor with a clatter. He blinked dumbly and looked down at the carbon fibre arrow shaft that stuck out crudely from the centre of his chest. A sick, wet noise made Jesse recoil as a second arrow thudded home between his attackers now crossed eyes. McCree gagged and shoved the bloody corpse of the Yakuza mercenary off his legs and scrambled back against the crumpled table.

Another attacker was thrown across the room, Hanzo had vaulted through the window and kicked him in the chest with the momentum.

"American!" Hanzo called above the din of the blaze and the panicked shouts of the attacking Yakuza agents.

"Eh?" Jesse gawped as he whipped his head around to stare at the Japanese man who seemed to conveniently crop up just where the action was, or Jesse. Hanzo glowered down at the Overwatch detective and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and roughly shoved him behind the closest door frame for cover from the hail of bullets.

"What in blazes are you doing here?"

The corner or Hanzo's mouth twitched up and he clicked his tongue, "Poor taste, American, very poor."

Jesse huffed a short laugh and spread his hands, Peacekeeper still resting in his palm, "Heh, unintentional I swear." He cleared his throat and focused on reloading after Reinhardt growled low in his throat and shot him a murderous glare.

"Is this really the time for a gun fight?" Reinhardt bellowed at the Yakuza's mercenaries. "The building is on fire unless you have not noticed!"

Hanzo nocked another arrow and rolled his eyes, he silently released a breath and loosed the arrow straight through the mouth of the agent who lead the attacking force- the shrill orders he spat at his men cut off abruptly as the arrow met its mark.

The Yakuza mercenaries regrouped by the most intact wall for cover at their leaders orders, the man still twitched feebly on the floor, and fled out the windows they and vaulted in from. Jesse turned to Hanzo, brow furrowed and mouth open to ask just why the formidable Yakuza force had so swiftly backed off when he noticed how pale Hanzo had suddenly become.

The samurai blinked numbly, his usual stoic expression had crumpled into a much more vulnerable look of fear. Hanzo stared down at the agents corpse. A slim grey canister had rolled from his grasp, the cap flicked open and the button underneath flashed red methodically.

"Out!" Hanzo had found his voice, and all but screamed, "Out!"

Jesse was deafened by the explosion that sundered the building like a mountain being reduced to rubble, and could only see Reinhardt's terrified expression and watch his partners mouth move as he attempted to shout above the chaos. Jesse didn't had time to think as his body was thrown back by the momentum of the blast. All he could do was brace himself for the inevitable.

McCree's cried out in pain, the brutal sound ripped from his throat as he landed awkwardly. His head snapped back against the rubble and he groaned feebly as his vision blurred.

Hanzo's body curled and a hazy shield of blue light seemed to roil around him.

After what felt like hours, the dust and rubble settled and ash and silence blanketed the ruins of the Overwatch detective office.Reinhardt scrambled over the rubble and swept the debris off McCree's slumped form. With unlikely gentleness, he lifted the unconscious man into his arms and cradled him softly.

" _Halten auf, meine Sonnenblume_..." Reinhardt murmured, as he gently brushed McCree's dusty hair out of his face, the heavy waves clotted with blood. Hanzo limped up behind him.

"I will procure our transport. I will be swift." He added in a softer tone, before he turned away and forced himself into a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Reinhardt is German it seemed apt to include his native language- please leave any comments if anything is incorrect, I'm not German myself and Google Translate can only do so much. 
> 
> Scheisse- shit  
> Hunde- hounds/ dogs  
> Halten auf- hold on/ tight  
> Sonnenblume- Sunflower


	4. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I've had to juggle writing with working overtime and misplacing my will to live without slamming my head on the wall to get through writers block again  
> Genji is in this chapter - in this fic i've decided that he was 'killed' by their father and its Hanzo that flees to the Shambali order with a dying Genji and it is Zenyatta who heals him and makes him half omnic. I just want them Shimada brothers to be happy  
> Help me this little radish boy has emotionally compromised me

Peacekeeper was no snub nosed ladies hosiery piece, but in Hanzo's hands it looked massive. It's wide barrel was pressed against the drivers cheek, the man trembled and stammered a desperate plea whenever Hanzo pushed the gun harder against his teeth or growled an order to accelerate or make a turn. Hanzo's silken hair was loose about his shoulders, the gold scarf he usually used to tie it back was now wrapped tightly around his fist, a dark stain of red bloomed under the knot over his palm.

Reinhardt sat in silence in the back of the cab with McCree's unconscious form slumped over the unoccupied seats with his head resting on his partners thigh. The old soldier reserved himself to stare out the rain streaked window, preferring to ignore Hanzo's interaction with the terrified taxi driver.

The car lurched to a halt, the tires momentarily lost purchase on the wet tarmac and skidded against the curb. Hanzo reached behind him and blindly opened the door and backed out of the car, gun still trained on the driver that quaked behind the wheel.

"Out." He growled lowly, opening the door closest to Reinhardt. The larger man slid out the backseats and hauled Jesse upright, slinging one of his partners limp arms around his broad shoulders, one massive hand holding Jesse's wrist to keep his slouched body pressed close.

The heavy downpour slammed against the pavement and tile roofs of the tightly packed apartment buildings, the dirty little street looked even drearier in the rain, the cloying smell of old refuse and stale smoke created an oppressive layer and twinned with the thick scent of the rain it was not unlikely to suffocate by laying in the gutter.

McCree groaned and swooned, clinging on to Reinhardt's shoulder as his trembling legs threatened to give out. The cold rain against his face shocked him back to consciousness.

Hanzo cast a cautious look around them,  then swiftly ascended the steps lightly and knocked a rhythm against the metal door. The soft throb of music from within shut off immediately but other than that there was no acknowledgement to their presence from inside.

Hanzo snarled lowly, and slammed his fist thrice on the door. "Let me in, damn you!"

The metal door opened slowly, revealing a sliver of light and one familiarly shaped bracken brown eye and a tuft of neon green hair. The boys eyes widened and his youthful face brightened with recognition, "Hanzo!"

"Hush." Hanzo hissed, pressing a hand against the door stop it from being opened any further and he swept his piercing gaze around the street again, "Get upstairs."

Hanzo swivelled his shoulders to look back at the Overwatch Detectives out of the corner of his eye. "Come." He murmured, and stalked forward across the threshold of the apartment.

Reinhardt had no choice but to follow, and trailed after the pair with McCree still slumped against his body.

The Shimada brothers walked side by side up the narrow staircase, the younger brother's hands fluttered restlessly at his sides; knowing Hanzo preferred to master his own pain but fighting the urge to aid his protector. Genji sprang up the last few steps and held the door open for the company of wounded men to enter before engaging the many locks that held the door closed and kept him safe and hidden.

Jesse blinked the rain out of his eyes that dripped from his sodden hair and looked around. On the inside, the whole place seemed unnecessarily lavish. He didn't know if he wanted to roll in the plush carpet or piss in the fireplace.

Reinhardt loped them over to the large leather sofa and eased his partner down as gently as he could wounded before sinking down beside him. The old warrior sighed and shook his head before letting it fall back to rest against the plump edge of the backrest; it felt like weeks since he had simply sat down.

The apartment may have been lacking in size but it had been expensively furnished; heavy black and cream wallpaper donned the walls of the living room and blackout curtains hung over all the windows, none of the warmth or soft light showed from the outside, there it looked just as hopeless and despairing as the rest of the street. The far wall housed a lit granite fireplace above that hanged a huge framed painting of two men on a hill top with the lithe spectral forms of two dragons roiling together in the clouds above.

Jesse stared at the painting intently, vainly attempting to get his bleary eyes to focus. The paint was worn thin in places and the canvas was beginning to show through at the corners where at fabric met the frame. 

Under a mounted rack of ornamental swords sat a covered side table that housed a crystal liquor decanter and glasses, as well as an open packet of cigarettes. McCree sighed, a strong drink and a cigarette would be very welcome.

Hanzo drew his brother away to speak in private, he lurched into the small bedroom they shared and closed the door softly after Genji had followed like a nervous pup after his elder.

McCree was only partially aware of the Shimada brothers talking in hushed yet animated Japanese; the left side of his face still felt numb and his flesh and blood arm felt sticky inside his sleeve.

Reinhardt's big hand clasped his shoulder and shook him gently, "Are you alright, _Sonnenblume_?" One of his eyes was plastered shut by a swath of dried blood from an ugly looking gash on his broad forehead that still dripped sluggishly. 

Jesse nodded then grimaced, doing so made the room spin.

The acrid, chemical smell of antiseptic cut through the haze of pain that fogged Jesse's mind. The younger Shimada brother had returned and knelt on the floor in front of McCree. He hummed softly as he rummaged through the worryingly extensive first aid kid he had placed on top of the low coffee table next to him, beside the ungainly looking traditional styled teapot. Genji's gaze flicked up at the two strangers looking down nervously at him and smiled.

"I can see you staring. I'm not really a robot, but I'm not all a person either. See?" He wiggled his cybernetic fingers in the air in front of Jesse's face like a small child, McCree wasn't sure he wanted to know how old the younger Shimada brother was.

"What happened to your clothes?" Jesse blinked, taken aback by the childish innocents of the question. Genji's eyes slid from Jesse to Reinhardt and back again, one dark eyebrow raised and his head tilted to the side. He unconsciously ran his own metal fingers over the tattered waistcoat that hung open at his stomach. 

"Explosion." Reinhardt grunted after a pause. The boy blinked, unperturbed by the uncomfortable silence.

"What exploded?" Genji shuffled forwards on his knees, attentive gaze fixed on Reinhardt.

"Detective office." The larger man said shortly.

"So you're detectives?" Genji's look of wonder morphed into a sly natural grin, the expression almost the very same Hanzo had worn when Jesse had begun their interrogation almost a week ago.

"Hanzo never answers my questions, all I get is 'nothing', 'nowhere', and 'I'm going to bed let no one in'. Genji gave a petulant huff and waved his hand dismissively while impersonating his elder brother.

The boy reached up and made short work of the buttons on Jesse's shirt and eased the sleeves off his shoulders, the detective hissed when the open air made contact with his wounds. McCree looked down at Genji expecting to see the child recoil at the bloody state of his arm but instead he had nonchalantly sat back on his heels to snap on a pair of rubber gloves and dap antiseptic on a cotton swab.

Genji's smile was as bright as his hair. "Hanzo is terrible at putting himself back together after a fi-" Hanzo cleared his throat loudly- the sound distorted through the wall-and glared at his younger brother through the crack of the open door. Jesse supressed a chuckle as he watched Hanzo's visible eye roll and Genji stick his tongue out at him. _You can tell they're siblings from a mile off_ \- Jesse smiled.

"Are you not going to ask me any questions, detective?" Genji turned his attention back to Jesse and his wounded shoulder.

"A'right, what's with the green?" Jesse asked with a crooked smile, and gestured to his hair with his prosthetic hand.

Genji grinned and tilted his head in an almost catlike manner, Jesse had seen Hanzo move in a similar way. "My favourite colour."

The younger Shimada made quick work of cleaning and dressing their wounds, applying bandages and gauze where required, working with intense eyes and unwavering concentration; even Reinhardt, for all his uneasiness, allowed the young half-omnic to assess the gash on his forehead.

 Hanzo softly padded back into the room, bare footed and shirtless with a towel draped over one hand that he was using to dry his hair off, still slicked wet from the rain. He paused in front of the gramophone neatly boxed in the corner. Hanzo quizzically bit on his lower lip as he leafed through his collection of records, he hummed quietly to himself and selected his choice and mounted it into the mechanism and gently brought the needle down onto the vinyl. The soft crackle and croon of Hanzo's jazz record warbled soothingly through the air.

He sighed contentedly and limped toward the empty sofa against the opposite wall, his right arm wrapped around his middle, fingers brushed absently over series of half healed gashes that stretched the wiry expanse of his abdomen up and around his ribs on the left side.

Genji's eyes widened at the wounds Hanzo had no doubt concealed from his brother. " _Aniki_ ," The younger man called over sharply. Hanzo's brow creased and he muttered quietly but vehemently in Japanese. Genji turned to face Hanzo with his fists on his hips and his jaw set stubbornly.

"Do not curse at me, now sit and hold still." He stooped to collect the medical kit and placed a hand on his brothers chest and gently pushed him back towards the empty sofa. Hanzo flared his nostrils at the audacity of being ordered about by his younger sibling, but put up no fight.

The cloying layers of freshly applied gauze stuck over Hanzo's flank creased as his body slouched and he sunk into the plush sofa, elbows against the backrest; enamelled flask of sake in one hand and a long lit cigarette in the other. His broad shoulders dropped a few inches as he relaxed, tightly wound muscles uncoiling he let his eyes fall closed.

Jesse couldn't not stare. It was almost shameless, the way Hanzo had bared himself and slouched, there was no where about the man that wasn't bordering on the obscene; the greying cascade of his sleek hair that framed his sharp royal features, the wide expanse of his barrel chest, the broadness of his shoulders and the intricate scrawl of the tattoo that twisted from his breast down to his wrist, his large hands- in comparison to his own they were smaller- but his long fingers and thick knuckles had incalculable strength to them. Hanzo's dark eyes opened into slits and he glared across the room at McCree, Jesse turned his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Genji caught the look and his usual boyish grin twisted slyly, he said nothing but raised his chin and surveyed the room from his position on the carpet by the fireplace with unabashed smugness.

The lid of the ornate clay teapot rattled and the nose of what looked like a snake poked out from underneath it. Reinhardt started with a yelp of surprise.

Hanzo _hmphed_ and the corner of his mouth twitched up. " _Superstitious Western world men_..." he muttered.

The little dragon spirit slid from the table and coiled itself around Jesse's ankle and tugged playfully at his shoelaces. McCree was surprisingly calm about this new development- having a building drop on your head seemed to do that. "I have seen enough weird shit today, scoot." Genji's dragon retreated to its previous place at the table curled around the heavy clay teapot, her flared tail flicked playfully. The little spectral was the exact green of Genji's hair, the slightly iridescent scales flashed and shone with varying hues of green but ultimately she decided that the colour of her corporeal beings tuft of hair was their preferred colour to remain. The younger Shimada giggled and beckoned his spirit dragon over.

Hanzo stood, drawing all attention back to him. "As I said before, American, I require your aid." He strode over to a set of black double doors and turned back to the detectives. The man had an incredibly striking profile, all sharp angles and sleek, hair that flowed like spilled ink.

The muscles in Hanzo's bared back bunched and flexed as he hauled open the heavy reinforced doors to the concealed weapons closet. Every wall was lined, ceiling to floor, with weapon racks; a disquieting display of hand guns, rifles, katana swords, there was even a chain gun-of all possible things-propped up in the corner of the closet. On a small metal table in the opposite corner was a steel briefcase that lay open, a canister that looked not to dissimilar to a grenade nestled inside the black padding that lines the case.

Reinhardt narrowed his eyes, his massive hands clenched into fists where they lay on his knees. He inhaled a measured breath and exhaled heavily through his nose. "Where did you get that..." The former soldier growled low in his throat.

Jesse's self proclaimed 'always correct sense of impending doom' flared into action and he tried to stand. The blood rush through his body lightened his head and he thought better of struggling all the way up to standing so he sat as tall as he dared. "Anyone plannin' on informin' those of us that do not have any idea, what's goin' on?" McCree looked quizzically between his partner and the former Yakuza lord.

"That there is a prototype grenade from the Omnic Wars, worked like an EMP but specially tailored to the mechanical men, if they were in the blast radius they weren't getting back up." Reinhardt kept his icy gaze fixed on Hanzo. The other man, to his credit, didn't flinch. "So I will ask again, Yakuza, where did you get that."  

Hanzo drew himself up to his full height- Reinhardt completely dwarfed him, even sitting, but there was an unmatched certainty and power to Hanzo's movements.

 "I acquired it from lesser men who would use such a device to their own ends, such an ends I will _never_ allow." he spat vehemently, and glowered at the mountain of a man.

 Jesse looked past the two arguing men and felt a pang of something he wouldn't call protectiveness in his chest. Genji stood uncertainly in the corner of the room, he twisted his metal fingers nervously and he stared back at Jesse with wide, frightened eyes.  

 "I thought you enjoyed crippling your enemies before swooping in like a vengeful god with a good tailor?" Jesse drew the attention of the two men back to him, before somebody got injured, again. He let himself babble; he had just been shot at, blown up, subject to weird Japanese spirit magic, and a man Jesse would always think of as a little boy looked scared out of his wits. In his opinion he was entitled to talking himself into a mess.

"When their King piece is checked and the board is under my command, yes. Not when my opponents are helpless on the floor. There is no honour in that, only cowardice." Hanzo closed the gap between them in three swift purposeful steps. " I have a plan, American, but I cannot put such a plan into motion on my own."

Hanzo inclined his head slightly, gaze dropping then returning to fix Jesse with an unwavering stare. "Will you aid me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again as before- if anything has been translated incorrectly please let me know  
> German:  
> Sonnenblume=Sunflower  
> Japanese:  
> Aniki= older brother


	5. The Kings Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo in a suit fucking shit up to upbeat Jazz music has invaded my dreams and fuelled this chapter I never want to let that image go

The sun had barely risen when Jesse stirred. The dim morning light creeping over the horizon was warped by the ever present glow of florescent city lights; the heavy swath of light merging together into one thick band.

McCree groaned and stretched, brows pulling together as he felt something in his back pop. Jesse squinted around the dimly lit room. For a brief minute the detective wondered where he was, before his sleep addled brain managed to put the pieces back together. Reclining on an unfamiliar sofa and staring up at an equally unfamiliar ceiling, the last nights events came back with alarming clarity. Jesse applied gentle pressure against his wounded shoulder and ran his fingers over the seam of the gauze plastered against his skin, feeling the raised pinpricks of goose bumps under his thin shirt. A cold shiver jolted him back to reality and his focus slid to the open balcony door. He gingerly stood and padded over to peer outside.

Remarkably underdressed for the chilly morning air, the Shimada brothers were leant close on the railing with their backs towards the doors, talking softly. From his position just behind the door, shrouded by the darkness of the room behind him, Jesse could see the faint trail of cigarette smoke drifting into the air.    

Genji looped his arm through Hanzo's and linked their fingers together. "I worry for you, _aniki_." Genji whispered and leaned his head on Hanzo's shoulder. The latter smiled just for his brother and scratched his short nails through the tuft of Genji's neon green fringe. The younger Shimada's voice grew small. "I wish I was still little enough to believe you indomitable."

"Now that is quite enough." Hanzo scolded without heat. Disentangling their arms, he gently cupped his brothers face with both hands and swiped away Genji's tears softly with his thumbs.

A soft blue light began to uncoil around Hanzo slowly like the blooming of a lily flower. The pale streams of light flowed up around Hanzo's body then seemed to reach out and entwine itself around Genji as if it were the arms of a loving mother holding a curious child, gently but tightly and with utmost care. Twin spectral dragons fazed into being from the river of light and coiled themselves around Genji's torso and nuzzled against his neck and hair affectionately. Where Genji's dragon was small and playful, with furry tufts and stumpy horns; as young as he was no doubt, Hanzo's twins were magnificent. Horned, bearded and feathered, with bright flashes gold through their features, a resplendent match to the iridescent, cobalt blue of their bodies. Jesse then remembered the painting hanging over the Shimada's mantelpiece, and got the impression these two were nothing close to full size. Frightening and humbling in the same instance.

Slowly and quietly, Jesse backed away from the door and pushed it to as discreetly as he could, feeling as though he had just spied on something meant for the solace of privacy and no outside eyes. Jesse wandered back into the lavish living space he had spent the night holed up in, guilt stirring disquiet in his heart, he eyed the teapot suspiciously in passing en route to the corner desk. Japanese spirit dragons, those were a first.

The radio Reinhardt had busied himself with until the small hours of the morning sitting there crackled into life. It had been patched into the emergency channel and the familiarity of the ever exasperated, gravel-rough voice coming through the receiver made warmth flood through Jesse's soul. The Overwatch detective felt himself smile, the weight of the world temporarily lifting from his shoulders.

Jesse huffed a breathless chuckle and activated the radio microphone. "Damn Reyes, one day you'll be happy to see me."

A deep rumbling laugh cracked back, "As much as anyone could be. We tried to contact you at the station but we got nothing, not even static. What happened?"

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck and gave a nervous chuckle, "Yeah, uh, the station's, uh...exploded?"

Somewhere in the world a pin dropped. ."...What?"

Jesse felt Hanzo's presence more than heard his approach as the shorter man hovered curiously at his shoulder.

"We're right up hell creek here, boss, this is bigger than we thought. We need everybody out to Hanamura." Jesse decided that he most definitely did not enjoy being under Hanzo's scrutiny. He felt stern brown eyes burning his back as he explained the closest thing they had to a plan to Reyes, and then again to Morrison. Jesse had always preferred Reyes, he always felt like a schoolboy in detention when around the old soldier. And besides, who wouldn't prefer being referred to as _hijo_ over ingrate in general conversation.  

Hanzo wrinkled his nose minutely, it would have been an undetectable gesture had Jesse not been so close. "You should rouse your... _Partner_ , should you wish to set these wheels in motion." Hanzo growled with a curl of his lip. Guess he remembers Reinhardt throwing him out of the station. Jesse nodded and turned back to the microphone.

"Gotcha Morrison, see you at nightfall."

 *

This far from the city, up upon the hill, the only light came from the castle itself. The intimidating fortress was shrouded in darkness in the physical world and within Hanzo's mind. Castle walls used to make Hanzo feel safe, now only a prickling sickness that made his throat constrict. He remembered them climbing these very walls as children, to escape the lessons of a boring tutor. Genji's shallow breaths were all he had to pull him back, little wisps of vapour in the chill night air, and whispers through the cherry trees. He had vowed that when he fled Hanamura with what was left of his younger sibling he would never return, but this time Castle Shimada would burn in their wake. The board my not be theirs, but a pawn may checkmate the king. 

The younger Shimada stood to the side bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervous energy. His bracken brown eyes flicked from Hanzo, to the oppressive stone walls, and back again. He had swapped his casual clothes for reinforced armour, the plating snapped into place over his omnic limbs and augmented torso, in a sleek matte carbon grey. Flesh and bone, and silicon and metal; the omnic's had worked a marvel with Genji's body. As quick and flexible as he had always been, but his movements were lighter and came with great precision. Perhaps some of the monks teachings and Hanzo's own techniques had bled together to create something distinctly unique- like Genji himself. 

Hanzo himself had thrown caution to the wind- if Sojiro Shimada wanted a perfectly groomed heir to take over, then that's exactly what he would get. Perhaps that foolish American was becoming an influence. What a horrifying thought. He had forgone waistcoat and blazer altogether- wearing only a silk shirt unbuttoned to the middle and loosely tucked into black and dark grey pinstripe trousers. Far less restrictive. Fine shirts and embroidered waistcoats were ideal for showing status with minimal effort on ones part, but certainly not suitable for drawing and firing his weapon of choice. He had quite enough ruined clothing in his closet that had accumulated over the last week. 

With one last calculating glance around, Hanzo sprang forward from the shadows. He used the heavy door bar that held the great doors shut to vault upwards to reach the twin dragons of the Shimada family crest carved upon the wood to scale further upward. There were the stirrings of a perverted sense of glee at desecrating something he once held sacred. The real dragon brothers were returning. Genji followed, swift and catlike, to Hanzo's position poised in the shadow on the platform above the doors. 

Hanzo chuckled quietly in response to the quizzical tilt of Genji's head, rolling his shoulders," They are restless, the wheels have been in motion for an age, now the moment is upon us." 

After a moment, Genji nodded, "She is ready, _aniki_ ," he breathed, flexing his hands. The melodious tones of his voice slightly distorted by the mask he wore. 

"I will keep to the walkways as long as I can, we go through the temple, then up further to the windows." Hanzo then turned directly to his brother and stared through the neon green light of the visor. "Be careful, please."

Genji blinked softly behind his mask, and took his elder brothers hand in his own and squeezed. "I will, _aniki_ , I promise."

With a steadying breath, Genji drew his companion sword and dropped down from the platform directly on top of one of the unsuspecting Yakuza, blade slicing down through the junction of neck and shoulder and into their chest. With the momentum of the fall, the ninja curled into a tight roll to reach and slash at the next closest mans stomach. Perfectly in time, Hanzo loosed his first arrow and Genji launched a fan of shurikens. 

Hanzo drew two arrows, the first thudded home in the centre of the chest of the kobun who charged Genji from the shadows, the next he sent to splinter and ricochet off the bell in the temple to wound those hiding behind the red stained pillars. With a flash of lingering green light, Genji followed his arrows inside, Hanzo only had the panicked, cut off shouts of their fathers men to indicate his younger siblings victory. Genji had always favoured the Wakizashi, paired with his Katana. His favourite characters in the old stories mastered the swords.

Another group rushed at them from across the courtyard. Hanzo took a handful of arrows from his quiver and released a volley to rain down upon them like shards of shattered glass.

Beneath him, Genji was a whirlwind of flashing steel and lingering auroral trails of green. Sparks flew where his blades connected with those of their adversaries. The Shimada Yakuza had numbers, but the brothers had carved a path from the temple to the central hall. Hanzo dropped from the raised walkway to the courtyard beside his brother and they advanced as one. 

Further inside, one man blocked their path, Hanzo recognised the them even at a distance. His fathers wakagashira _;_ he took great satisfaction in taking Hanzo's place at Sojiro Shimada's side, and the riches and leverage that came with it. He passed his sword to his off hand and took something from his belt, their deranged grin was all teeth and sick satisfaction. 

"A gift. Failure." He pulled back his fingers to show off a familiar grey canister and cast it across the smooth wooden floorboards towards the younger Shimada. The grenade crackled and sparked before igniting and filling the room with lightning. The electric blast caused Hanzo to stagger, arms raised to shield his eyes. 

"Hanzo!" Genji wailed, his body no longer obeying him as he crumpled, writhed on the ground. Electricity sparked over Genji's cybornetic body, short circuiting the synthetic muscle and overloading the internal systems that kept him standing free of pain.

"How _dare you_!" Hanzo roared. Azure fire ignited in his eyes as the final strands of his self control were thrown upon their pyre. The vivid blue light pulsed and writhed until it surrounded Hanzo like a blazing wreath, blue and gold and terrible. He drew back the bowstring and fired. With a commanding shout, one of his spirit dragons surged forward with an ethereal roar and coiled itself around their victims body. It's lithe, shimmering form twisted high into the air then slammed its spectral body down through the floor. Shimada Wakagashira wailed pitifully before all his bones shattered with a slick, wet crunch. Hanzo didn't flinch, set ablaze by fury.

The light faded into a dim glow then dissipated fully. Hanzo's breath shuddered from his lungs and he fell to his knees beside Genji.

" _Otouto_?" Hanzo removed the faceplate of Genji's armour and cradled his head. "Genji?" The samurai shook him softly, his voice pitched high and childlike. There was no response. Hanzo looked around helplessly, shadows creeping forward.

"Hanzo." The elder Shimada brother froze, body twisting to stare up at the shadowy figure standing at the head of the staircase. Hanzo felt his skin dampen and chill as all the colour drained from his face.

"Choose, boy." Moonlight shone from the cruelly sharpened blade of the Tachi held poised at his side, keen and thirsty for blood. 

"I chose long ago." Hanzo snarled. He hauled Genji onto his shoulder and ran.

Hanzo's stomach clenched painfully and he pitched sideways against the nearest wall, bitterly he cursed the threatening sting of tears behind his eyes as his throat constricted and he vomited. He wasn't sure how long had passed but his feet had carried him from the hilltop down to the warehouse district. Genji was a deadweight against his flank, his younger brothers metallic feet scraped against the wet tarmac of the freight dock as Hanzo struggled to half carry, half drag his brother to the aid and safety of the Overwatch agents. Genji began to feebly kick his feet in a valient attempt to take his weight under him.

*

A thick curtain of fog had descended with the darkness, cloying with the stench of oil and engine fumes in a smothering shroud that seemed to press down in attempt to grind the people out in the night under its heel. 

The assembled Overwatch agents had split up into three units to hit the Shimada warehouses in unison. The Yakuza force would be scrambling to defend the docks and be unable to call for backup, or be summoned to the castle. That was the plan anyway, but if the last week had taught Jesse anything, it's that plans mean nothing when your base of operations could be blown up for the audacity of being there at all, and someone could just waltz in and shoot a dragon at you. 

Ana Amari lowered her rifle just enough to peer at Jesse over the scope. "So, right in the thick of it for a Yakuza Oyabun turned renegade, hmm? Came for the criminals, stayed for the tea and tobacco?" Amari's smugness had reached new heights. He loved and respected the older woman, despite her penchant for teasing when her subject was cornered- who more often than not was Jesse.

"Hanzo Shimada is trouble, but the Shimada Yakuza are the real problem. We deal with them, and with luck and a little _friendly persuasion_ , things should start to level out for good." Ana was still staring, her smile wide and shark like. 

Jesse huffed and rolled his neck in vain attempt to work out an ache. "Don't give me that look, Ana. His shoes are probably worth more than my life."

There was something moving in the darkness.

"Somethin's not right..." Jesse muttered as he peered into the fog. Muffled sounds of combat had come from opposite directions of the dock's warehouses, but the castle stood as still and dominating as it always had. "Hold the fort, Ana." McCree called over, he unholstered his Peacekeeper with a flourish and bounded into the night. The damp chill had seeped its way into Jesse's bones, and his breath fogged in front of him, like a ghostly wisp leading him to his death. Wouldn't be so unlikely, visibility had dropped to about three feet if stood in the light. 

McCree rounded the corner of the shipping container and found himself nose to nose with Hanzo, almost falling on top of the shorter man pulling to an abrupt halt. Jesse flashed a grin, lifting the brim of his hat out of his eyes with the barrel of his dearest Peacekeeper. "Howdy." Hanzo's expression remained unimpressed motionlessness and dragged Jesse by the collar back the way he came. 

"In." The samurai snarled, giving Jesse a shove through the doors and slamming them shut behind them.

McCree adjusted his grip on Peacekeeper and cast a look over Hanzo. His hair was loose and tangled about his shoulders and he looked pale and haggard as a phantom in the moonlight. Given that Hanzo appreciated open displays of sympathy as one would the plague, McCree intended to keep his words to himself. Or he would have, had Hanzo not choked on a sound that could have been a growl or a keen and began pacing, shoes scuffing audibly on the concrete, bow in hand. 

Jesse mind stilled mid thought. Since meeting the younger, the Shimada's has been inseparable. A high pitched metallic wheeze from a secluded corner answered that question before he asked it.

"What happened?" 

Hanzo's scowl turned to surprise when the doors burst from their hinges in a hail of splinters and an attacking force of Yakuza forced their way inside, weapons trained and ready. Hanzo and McCree dove into cover. 

"The hell did these guys come from!" McCree yelped, it suddenly felt like they were on the loosing side of the board. He span on his heel to wild fire at the two men who had rushed at the stack of crated he was shielded behind, cocking the hammer with the side of his hand in well practiced lightning movements. 

Hanzo loosed arrows with alarming accuracy. He had perfected the arc of firing arrows to curve and ricochet to fell the men in cover and peeking out. Each draw of the bowstring had the buttons of his fine shirt straining with the movement. The former Oyaban reached back to his quiver and spat something filthy when his fingers felt only air. Hanzo cursed himself, should have collected his spent arrows before advancing, should have taken the brunt of the explosion, should have protected Genji as he promised, should have, should have. He ducked and snatched up an assault rifle from the body of the closest Yakuza agent. Each short pulse of the trigger had men falling dead in a wide arc.

Jesse blinked. His keen gaze travelled from a gore splattered, furious looking Hanzo, to the cooling bloody pile of unfortunate Yakuza agents that had fought them, and back again; one thick brow raised. Hanzo threw down the rifle and glowered down at his soiled clothes, lip curled in sheer disgust. 

"Filth and barbarism..." He snarled under his breath as he began picking his way over the strewn corpses collecting his spent arrows.

"Remind me never ta get on yer bad side." The withering glare he received from the slighter man made Jesse's jaw snap shut so fast his teeth audibly clacked together. Hanzo's dark eyes narrowed, his gaze slid over to the entrance of the warehouse, door still hanging open off of its hinges.

"Ready yourself, American," Hanzo muttered, focus pinned entirely on the entrance. "There are more."

Jesse nodded, reloading his Peacekeeper and ducking behind a crate with hopefully less bullet holes, the barrel of his gun trained on the entrance. Hope somebody wants a shipment full of lead. 

Another patrol of Yakuza pounced from the darkness with a rallying cry, and let loose a hail of bullets. Hanzo and Jesse's eyes met across the expanse of the warehouse. They nodded in unison, and swung out of cover in the same heartbeat, weapons ready. 

McCree counted off his shots. One, two- thigh, stomach. Man down for dead. Three, four- chest, throat. Make that two. Five, six- two in the chest. Body armour. Still kicking. Jesse rolled back around the crate he used as cover and reloaded. Years of practice had his hands in motion without his attention. Level headedness soured into dread as he saw the advancing silhouettes of yet another force of Shimada's finest. 

"Is everyone in this damned place part of the mafia?" 

Hanzo roared and swung Storm Bow up and slashed at the closest Yakuza agent, the man stumbled back with a high cry of pain; the sharpened edge of the arms and handguard tore through flesh and fabric with ease. Something hit him like a punch in the gut and he crumpled with a strained grunt, feeling sticky hot blood seep through his shirt. 

Hanzo huffed a bitter laugh "Welcome to the Family, there is no such thing as the upper hand."

The noises of the corporeal world slowly seemed to dim; the only sounds of clarity were the insistent whispers of his soul, and his heart thundering like war drums in his ears. Hanzo's eyes shut with a flutter, and he drew a slow, deep breath. The dragons called. **_let us fight let us fight we will protect we will protect they will all be consumed_**. When he opened them again, beautiful brown had been replaced once again by smoky cobalt blue. 

"American." Hanzo lurched forward, Storm Bow raised and final arrow nocked. Jesse heeded his 'shit's gonna go down' sense and promptly moved to stand at the other mans back. 

_**"Ryuuga wagateki wo kurau."** _

Hanzo drew back and fired, blue light unfurling from his arm and along the arrow shaft. The emanating light swirled to an incandescent vortex, and from that came Hanzo's spirit dragons; full formed and angry. The spectral beasts raged around them like a coursing river burst its banks, blazing a swath through the attacking Yakuza without hesitation or mercy. McCree watched awestruck as the twin dragon spirits devoured all in their path, burning the souls of their victim form their very eyes. Around, and around they flowed in writing hues of bright blue and gold until only three hearts were left beating. He found himself to be oddly calm despite the magic raging above his head that could snuff out his life like a little flame on a candlewick. They were _beautiful_. 

The ghostly light faded to wisps, and Hanzo shook like his legs were about to buckle underneath him.

Jesse slid to the ground back to back with Hanzo, both panting. The detective could feel the heavy movements of Hanzo's back as the other man breathed deeply.

"We make a mighty fine team, you an' me." Jesse gasped and rolled his head back slightly to bump against Hanzo's. He smiled at the tired, yet definitive noise of affirmation he got in return. McCree struck a flare and threw it towards the main doors of the warehouse, the smoke spluttering from the canister and billowing thickly into the air.

Hanzo hauled himself from the ground gracelessly and moved to kneel beside his younger brother in the secluded corner of the warehouse he had hid him in. Genji's lithe, metalic body shrouded by darkness and wooden crates. Jesse loped over from his now lonesome spot on the concrete floor and stood uncertainly just behind Hanzo. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure whether his presence would cause the former Yakuza lord to snap and bare his teeth. Slowly, as it seemed his presence bought nothing but blank indifference from Hanzo, McCree advanced and undid his worn waistcoat and passed it over Genji's twitching form.

"It ain't much, sonny, but it will keep you warm while we wait. Angela will be here soon so don't you worry none." Jesse gave the younger Shimada's shoulder a comforting squeeze and his signature 'everything will be alright if i say it will be' smile, "You'll be jus' fine."

Genji coughed wetly, his shallow breaths were a high pitched wheeze and his limbs twitched of their own accord every so often. 

Hanzo remained motionless knelt over his younger brother, but turned his head enough for the tips of his inky hair to brush the swell of muscle at his shoulder, and peered up at McCree out the corner of his eye. Whatever he had intended to say was swallowed down as the other agents of Overwatch came through the door, spearheaded by Doctor Zeigler herself. Reinhardt, Morrison, and Reyes came in last and took up watch positions. Likely unnecessary, but safety was always preferable to ambush. Jesse pulled the other man away with a soft murmur of 'let her work'. They retreated to a safe distance- didn't want to crowd the good doctor- which still had a clear sight line of Genji. 

"Here," Jesse offered, shaking out his handkerchief and passing it to Hanzo, "Yer bleedin'."

"That is not important." Hanzo rasped. 

Jesse pressed on, unperturbed. "It'll be important to Genji..."

The anger that flared in Hanzo's eyes dissipated as quickly as it had come, and he accepted the once-white square of cloth with a quiet but sincere word of thanks.

"You. Are incorrigible." He muttered, fixing McCree with a sideways stare. 

Jesse gave a tired _hmph,_ and made a show of getting comfortable. "Says the man charging to war with nothing but pretty silk and a quiver on his back. Like a cool breeze do ya?" Jesse inclined his head towards the seam of Hanzo's shirt, still half unbuttoned. Hanzo exhaled a quiet shudder, it took Jesse a moment to realise he was laughing. 

"Fool American."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Raises from a puff of smoke and ash like Mushu* I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE  
> Holy McMoley last year was trash but i'm still alive and I've decided to once again throw myself ass first into writing, so HERE WE ARE DUDES! Shadow of the Dragon chapters 5 and 6!  
> Same as before- here's a list of all the words in other languages ive used:  
> Hijo- Spanish for son  
> Aniki- big/older brother Japanese  
> Otouto- little brother  
> kobun- yakuza rank 'child status'  
> Oyabun- yakuza rank 'parent status'  
> Wakagashira- yakuza rank 'lieutenant status'  
> Wakizashi- sword type 'companion sword'  
> Katana- all dangerous weebs know this one  
> Tachi- big motherfucker. Literally translates to 'big big sword'


	6. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. Long time coming.

Hanzo took Genji's metallic hands in his own, "It is not a safe path I walk, little sparrow," He said softly. Hanzo had insisted that he would only even begin to consider aiding Overwatch further when Genji was safe, so a flight has been secured for the younger Shimada to make his way to Nepal.

"Father's men caught you in their snare once before," He squeezed Genji's hands gently but tightly, "I will not let them harm you again." His tone brook no argument and the younger Shimada hung his head in quiet defeat. Hanzo released one of his younger brothers hands and reached up to softly cup the back of Genji's head, his fingers slipped through the soft strands of black hair there. He stepped closer and gently touched their foreheads, Genji whimpered and pressed forward with childlike desperation.

"The Monastery in the Himalayas," Hanzo murmured, his breath ghosted against the still human part of his brothers face," Go. The Shambali order will no doubt welcome you with several open arms..." Hanzo's voice cracked and his attempt at humour died in his throat; there was no amusement to be had in sending his brother away.

With a bow that ended abruptly in a crushing hug, Genji retreated from his brother and towards the awaiting aircraft.  

"You goin'ta be okay?" Jesse's broad shadow fell across Hanzo's flank.

"I must be, for his sake as well as my own." The Samurai said blankly, his voice was tight and cold, eyes never leaving Genji as his younger sibling boarded the plane. McCree said nothing and remained where he stood. He made no move to comfort Hanzo, save his mere presence, but let the smaller man use him as he had been since they met; as a shield, a bulwark against the dark tide of the under city and his own uncertainty. When his composure returned, Hanzo turned to face Jesse and held out his hand to shake, his other held two cigarettes.

A sly smile pulled at his tired expression and he tilted his head ever to slightly to the side. "Have a match?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well after however long this took, it's finally finished. Thankyou for all the comments and kudos and being along for the ride.


End file.
